Year by Year
by mtfrosty
Summary: Snapshots of the one time Obi-wan visits Luke each year after Mustafar up until his death on the Death Star.
1. Newborn

_Okay, so my other story Never Gone is just not wanting to work out right now, so I decided to start something new. No, I am not abandoning it, but it may be a while before it gets an update. Anyways, this one is going to be a collection of short little one-shots written from Obi-wan's point of view. One for each year of Luke's life up until the point of Obi-wan's death on the Death Star. It will be somewhat angsty, but hopefully enjoyable. :) The chapters will probably get longer as the story progresses._

_Please enjoy!_

**_Disclaimer:_**_ Haven't written one of these in a while, so I felt obligated to mention that basically nothing in this story is mine except for the idea itself. Just diving a little deeper into the vast ocean of GL's imagination. :)_

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><p>Newborn.<p>

He refuses to look at the baby sleeping soundly in his arms. There is no reason to. No reason to remember a man that's gone now.

Despite his efforts, he still feels the heat searing his arms and the sulfur eating at his lungs.

The moment passes, but the sensations still linger as he pushes the bundle forward into waiting arms. The woman smiles softly when she sees the boy's face, ignorant of why she has been unexpectedly blessed with such a gift. She glances up into the world-weary features of the man who brought the boy.

He manages a small twitch of his mouth, barely a smile. She stares into his haunted eyes and offers an encouraging smile of her own.

It doesn't help.

He nods respectfully and then folds his hands into his sleeves before turning away. She watches him go, resisting the urge to run after him even though he's a complete stranger. She's never seen that much pain in one glance before.

His shadowed figure fades into dusk.

The baby sniffles and chokes a little. Then he's crying.

The crying only stops when he no longer has the strength.

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><p><em>Yeah, it's short, but I would love it if you would review. Even just a few words is fine! Thanks for reading! :)<em>


	2. One

_One year old..._

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><p>One.<p>

The sun beats down relentlessly, all but frying the sand beneath his feet. He mutters a curse for what has to be the hundredth time in a span of maybe five minutes. What's worse, he doesn't even know what he's muttering; only that it has to be on the level of the most dreadful of curses in existence. Huttese wasn't and still isn't the most civilized of languages.

He supposes he can take comfort in his ignorance. After all, if he doesn't know what he's muttering, what is there to blame if someone happens to take offense?

A few years ago, he might have cared. He shrugs at the thought now.

He takes a moment to shield his eyes and scan the sky for any sign of moisture. Even a wisp of a cloud would bring a small measure of relief at this point.

All he gets in return is new knowledge that there are in fact _two_ suns eating at his exposed skin, not one. Ah yes, he forgot. Yet another advantage to living on Tatooine. Along with the often present smell of bantha dung and the always present feeling of the sand melting the soles of his sandals.

A bitter smile makes his lips crack. He is turning into a rather senile old man. And at the ripe young age of thirty-nine. A few years ago he would have appreciated the irony. Now it only serves to dredge up memories he would rather forget.

A few years ago he was a completely different man.

At least that's what he wants to believe, and that's what he _will_ believe for now. Denial is a welcome state of mind when the pain is still so raw.

A muted force-signature accompanied by a familiar scurrying sound causes his eye to twitch. He's still not used to that noise yet, and he knows he never will be. A young womp rat crawls out from behind a dusty rock formation to his left. It glances wearily in his direction and gives him a wide berth as it crosses his path.

Pest.

The first time he saw one was just out of town as it flopped onto its side, a crudely-sharpened stick protruding from between its ribs. A few young boys were laughing a little ways off and he had given them a stern look before moving on. He pitied the poor creature.

No more.

As populous as they were annoying, he couldn't seem to go one day without meeting at least a dozen of the irritating rodents. And as he watches _this_ particular one scurry away, he feels a strong urge to give it an encouraging shove with the Force to make it go faster.

The squeak that it lets out as it stumbles forward is unexpectedly satisfying. He can't quite help the small chuckle that follows. Anakin would be proud.

He blinks. A flash of lava, fiery red eyes… he blinks again and it's gone.

No Anakin. Never again.

One more ridge stands before him and he crests it slowly, but without hesitation. He still doesn't know why he decided to come here, only that he felt obligated to do so. He had never shirked from duty before, and he wasn't about to start. That was one part of his former self that he could preserve.

Although why this is duty is beyond him.

Protection, perhaps? Reasonable, considering the scum that lived here.

Responsibility? Maybe.

Curiosity? In the hopes that he's different from his father, possibly.

A combination of all three is what he settles for. He can't have come for no reason at all.

But in the end, when he finally reaches the top and the small homestead comes into view, he knows it's something entirely different. Even at this distance, the child's giggles are music to his ears.

He has to squint to see the cause of such a beautiful sound and he can barely make out the two figures sitting in a small patch of wilting grass. One is barely a speck, but undoubtedly the source of the giggling.

It flows to him on a current of wind that isn't there. He closes his eyes, a smile gracing his worn features, genuine this time.

Not duty. Nor protection or responsibility. That young source of light could not possibly fall under the mere confines of responsibility. Curiosity was not what he felt either.

No, this child is so much more than those.

As he descends the ridge, the giggles fade away, yet they echo in his head. He can only imagine what the child looks like…

Blond hair, vibrant blue eyes, and a smile reflecting a love for life rivaled by none.

Just like someone he used to know.

But no… no more. Never again.

Anakin is dead.

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><p><em>Reviews please! Thanks again for reading! :)<em>

_One quick question to anyone who knows... How old is Luke when Obi-wan dies on the Death Star? Twentyish?_


	3. Two

_Yay, year two! So, the general consensus seems to be that Luke was nineteen at Obi-wan's death, so that's what I'm going to use. Thanks for letting me know! :) Hope you enjoy the next chapter!_

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><p>Two.<p>

He has a feeling the frown on his face is about to become permanent within the hour. Oddly enough, he doesn't care. He figures he's had enough to frown upon during his short, yet seemingly long life.

The man had yelled at him. Not just warned him to stay away with a stern glare. Actually _yelled_ at him. Loudly.

His head is still pounding with the outrage that had been leaking off of the man. In the Force, it had felt like an endless wave washing over him, never giving him enough time to surface for air. He supposed he could understand where the man was coming from.

Apparently Jedi are no longer well-liked in the public's eye. There's a bounty out to anyone with information regarding a Jedi's location, and he has a feeling the man would be more than willing to give some up.

He brings a hand up to rub at his newly-shaved beard. He trimmed it this morning. Well, to be more accurate, he cut off the few-months growth that was beginning to resemble a rather poofy bush.

The chair rocks back and forth as he gently pushes off with his foot. He surveys the landscape surrounding his hovel and can't help but wonder how he ended up here. Here in this desolate landscape that some fool decided to classify as habitable. It hasn't rained in over half a year, and the last time it did, it was barely a drizzle. As if the sky had decided to spit out just enough to keep Tatooine alive for a few more months.

Not that it's any better when it rains. The temperature still manages to hover around seventy, and the sand only turns to mud for a few brief hours.

At least it keeps the womp rats in their holes for a little while. He supposes that's a good thing.

The woman hadn't yelled at him.

She had been standing just outside the door, a ways behind her husband, regarding him with a mix of curiosity and pity. He wonders now if she remembers him. It's been two years, but he knows she got a good glimpse at his face. He still remembers that moment vividly, when he had handed Luke over to her, whispering a farewell that wasn't even audible.

The woman is a good mother. He can still hear giggling every now and then.

He didn't see Luke this time. The man hadn't let him near the house and the woman had been blocking the door without meaning to. The boy had been stuck inside.

He wonders if he looks anything like his father.

_Of course he does_, he says to himself. Why wouldn't he?

The breeze kicks up a few blades of dead grass and swirls them around, creating a miniature funnel that spins close to his feet. The chair stops rocking as he stands up to go inside. The heat isn't bothering him as much as the dry, dusty air.

He sets a teapot on the stove and then leans against his small, hand-crafted table. It took him a good month to finish it, but he can't help but admire the way it turned out. He had never been especially talented in the ways of machinery, but when it came to good old natural craftsmanship, he was as good as any other.

It's as much a hobby as it is a time-waster and a way to occupy his mind. He turns to stare into his living room and has to chuckle a little at what he sees. Three chairs, a couple of smaller tables, and a chest of drawers, all hand-crafted out of the same wood as the table.

All made one right after the other.

So much for having a hobby. He knows better.

The whistling teapot startles him out of his thoughts and he rushes to the stove. He's back to leaning against the table within minutes, steaming mug of tea in hand.

Maybe he should try again, attempt to reason with the man, let him know who he really is. Maybe there's still a chance he'll be able to see the boy.

No, not this time. Any amount of slippery words would have hardly an effect on that man's selectively deaf ears.

He sighs.

Then he turns around and takes a seat. His eyes roam over the pieces of flimsi that litter the surface of the table, taking in the unfinished sketches he'd started and the little jots beneath them. He had been attempting to document the nature of Tatooine, but he was finding out quickly that there really wasn't much to document.

Aside from womp rats. He picks up a picture of a particularly ugly one and can feel his face scrunching at the memory. He shudders. Soaking wet womp rats, a good sketch do not make. He would do well to remember that.

Another sip of tea moistens his parched throat. He slides a blank piece over in front of him and grabs a pencil. His hand hovers over the page for a while as his mind struggles to come up with something to draw or write.

A small smile lifts his mouth a little and the pencil touches down…

_Luke,_

_I wasn't able to see you today. Your father… step-father… _

He starts over.

_I wasn't able to visit you today, but I want you to know that I tried. I wish I could just walk in and see you sitting in your father's lap, but that time will never come around, I'm afraid._

_I apologize for taking your father away from you. I tried to bring him back… I tried so hard…_

He pauses to run a hand through his hair. The chair creaks as he leans back in it, wondering why he is doing this. It's not as if Luke is ever going to see it. It's not as if _anyone_ is ever going to see it. Nevertheless, he continues.

_You spoke to me last year. You probably don't remember, but you were giggling. You probably never knew I was there, but it reached my ears anyway._

_I never got to thank you for that, so I want to thank you now…_

The pencil flops out of his hand as he loosens his hold on it. He can't do this right now. He just can't. He stands and walks back outside. The wind has died down a bit and it's somewhat quiet now.

But not peaceful. Never peaceful.

"_I hate you!"_

He flinches. Three years, and the hateful declaration still rings loud and clear. He wants to cry again, but he knows he left all of his tears on Mustafar.

_You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you._

The wind howls in return.

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><p><em>Thanks to all of the wonderful readers who reviewed last time and even to the ones that didn't! Nice to know I have an audience! :)<em>

_Please review if you have the time!_


	4. Three

_I know on my profile it says this one will have an update at least every two weeks, but it sort of got away from me. Sorry! Anyways, here's year three. Enjoy! :)_

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><p>The box is still relatively new, the only sign of its age being the thick coating of dust that continues to get thicker every month. It sits in a hole that's been chipped out of the wall. Out of sight, out of mind, it no longer exists.<p>

Until Obi-wan stumbles upon it one day and stares at it, recognition flashing across his face before it clouds over in a scowl. He pushes it back into the hole with his foot, hard enough to make sure it's stuck in there for good now. He really should just throw it out, but something's keeping him from doing so.

It decided to rain today. It isn't a drizzle either. As he stares out the window, he figures this is probably the first real rainstorm here since Tatooine was born into existence. The drops are as big as any raindrops he's ever seen, and they're slamming against his hovel so hard he can't hear himself think.

Or at least he wishes they were that loud. They _are_ loud, just not loud enough.

He can still think quite clearly, and today is not a good day for that. It's the anniversary of Anakin's death.

And it's Vader's birthday.

But both 'anniversary' and 'birthday' imply some version of a celebration, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can't quite seem to find a reason to clap or cheer for anything. He can't even crack a smile, not even a bitter one.

For a moment, he considers rummaging through his fridge for the bottle of jawa juice he has hidden in the back. _That_ would certainly muddle up his thoughts.

Unfortunately, he knows that if he were to open that up, he would be done with it in under an hour. A bottle of that size would not be good for his body, no matter how much he tried to settle it with the Force. Even a Jedi had his limits, and he has no intention of becoming an alcoholic.

So instead, he sits in a chair, brooding over memories he wishes he never had. He knows that these sorts of thoughts aren't healthy, but he's past the stage of denial.

He's accepted it now. Depression isn't so bad once you've accepted it, or at least that's what he keeps telling himself.

His eyes keep straying towards that hole in the wall. The box is almost completely out of site, but he can still see a small portion of it, smooth and gray with a coat of grime.

_He almost leaves it there, settled nicely into the charred, ashy dust. But right as he's about to pass it, he changes his mind and reaches down. His calloused hands, streaked with black smudges, wrap around the silver hilt. It's still warm and he lifts it and stares at it. The hand that had wielded it lies to his left, separated from the smoldering mess behind him that used to resemble a human being._

_He clips it to his belt and walks away, refusing to look back._

He blinks. Why hadn't he looked back? Maybe that would have changed things. Even as Anakin had screamed his hatred to the galaxy, his only remaining limb had been reaching out towards him, almost begging to be grabbed.

Why hadn't he helped the boy? There had been plenty of chances. The fire had taken its own lazy time before reaching Anakin's body, and even then a small wave of his hand could have snuffed out the flames with a calm brush of the Force.

But no. He had watched the boy burn. He had watched the skin of his back meld with the tunic that covered it. He had watched his face turn black and peel off. He had watched the hair on his head visibly dissolve under the intense heat.

He had watched his little boy die. And he had done nothing.

He hates this day. _A dangerous emotion, hate is…_

"It doesn't matter anymore," he mutters. The chair creaks as he stands up. It takes him only a few strides to reach the wall and he kneels down to take hold of the box with one hand. He takes a moment to enjoy the irony of the fact that he jammed it in so hard.

Because now he intends to remove it.

It takes a few good jerks, but eventually it pops out in an explosion of dust. He coughs a few times and waves his hand to clear the air. Only a twitch of his mind is necessary to clear the box of the remaining dust and grime. Now it looks brand new again, just like the day he bought it.

He flips the latch and pauses, wondering if this is really such a good idea.

Knowing he'll regret it later, he takes a deep breath and opens it up.

The black smudges still stand out. The metal has grown cold and dull. He hesitates before slowly taking it out of the box. His thumb hovers over the ignition button and then pushes it. Despite having used a similar weapon for the majority of his life, he still flinches at the loud hum. It comes from the blue bar of plasma that shoots out to glow steadily in front of his face.

This used to belong to a Jedi, but the wielder no longer lives.

This is the anniversary of Anakin's death, not a celebration of his life.

His eyes close at the same moment his grip loosens, and the blade falls to the floor, slicing cleanly through the arm of his chair before blinking off. He doesn't deserve to touch that weapon.

The other one is still in the box, as dull and smudged as the first and he takes it out, thumbing it on as well. He doesn't flinch this time. It fits well in his grip, broken in by hundreds of battles. It's deflected thousands of blaster bolts, cut through as many droids, and saved his life countless times.

None of that makes up for the three limbs he cut off the last time he used it. Nothing will ever reconcile what he did.

He sighs, suddenly feeling very tired, and sets the weapon back in the box. The other he leaves on the floor, still refusing to touch it. He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes again, trying to focus on the pounding rain rather than the duel replaying in his head over and over again.

He doesn't know how much time has passed when a knock on his door startles him from his failed attempt at sleeping. At least it's a break from his depressing state of mind.

Maybe he _hasn't_ quite accepted it yet, and maybe that's a good thing.

He's almost at the door before he begins to wonder who on earth would be traveling in this weather. It's not as if the natives of this planet actually _enjoy_ the rain when it comes. In fact, he's noticed that they detest the stuff, always content to stay inside for as long as it takes to wait out even the lightest of storms. And _this_ is by no means a light storm. It's as close as Tatooine will ever get to a monsoon.

So who is at his door?

He should have installed a peephole. Or poked one in the door, rather. One does not _install_ a peephole.

Whatever. He's beyond the point of caring about such mundane things. "Who is it?" he calls, before silently slapping himself on the head for his rudeness. Threat or no threat, he decides to open the door so that the person on the other side doesn't drown before he's able to talk to them.

Whoever he was expecting, she certainly isn't it. And neither is the little boy standing next to her, wrapped in so much clothing his arms stuck out from his sides against his will. "Beru," he blurts in surprise before he can stop himself.

She looks startled for a second before composing herself once more. A sheepish smile spreads across her face as she glances down at the boy squirming next to her. "Would you mind if we, I mean, if it's okay… we wouldn't want to intrude…"

He's staring at the boy and only hears her stuttering by accident, because he's suddenly overwhelmed. Not by surprise or any emotion for that matter. But by the overwhelming presence this boy has in the Force. He jerks his gaze up and blinks. A step to the side opens up the doorway and he gestures with one arm. "Of course. I apologize for keeping you out here."

The two of them walk past him and he shuts the door and follows.

Luke is in his hovel. _Luke._

And not just any day. This day. As he watches Beru peel the layers off the boy, he can't help but wonder if this is merely a coincidence, or some sort of message from the Force that he's not getting. He ambles past his two guests into his small kitchen and puts some water on the burner. "I'll get some tea going. I'm sure you two are a might bit cold…"

He trails off when he hears them enter the kitchen. Pivoting smoothly on one foot, he turns to look at them. Beru is looking at him with confusion in her eyes. "Thank you for letting us in. I'm sorry for such an unexpected visit, but Luke wouldn't stop… how do you know my name?"

So that explains the confusion. The fact that she's so talkative is most likely due to nervous energy, he supposes. Contrary to the somber mood he had been in, he smiles a little. "Don't apologize. Your company is more than welcome, actually; although, I'm a little surprised that you were able to find me." He offers her a seat at the table when he notices they are still standing.

"Oh everyone's heard about 'Old Ben' the hermit by now," she says once she's seated. Luke still hasn't said a word, but as he sits on the woman's lap, the toddler stares up at him with a steady gaze.

He has to admit, he's slightly unnerved. That's a credit to the youngster too, because with all he's been through, it takes quite a bit to make him uneasy. He breaks his stare from Luke and turns back around to start rummaging for the tea. "I'm not _that_ old," he teases, trying to break the awkward tension between them. After all, they aren't really complete strangers.

It works. Beru chuckles a little. "Well no, but exiling yourself to the middle of nowhere unless you need supplies doesn't exactly give you the reputation of a younger man. It's old people that keep to themselves."

If only she knew how old he felt. The things he's seen, the things he's _done_… he's hard-pressed to remember the last time he felt his age. "Yes, well," he starts. "I suppose I can't control what other people think can I?"

He said that with more emotion than he intended and he winces at the heavy silence that follows. "I'm sorry. Today hasn't exactly been a good day…"

He can feel Beru's eyes on him as he makes the tea. "Maybe we should leave then," she offers in a tight voice. "We can visit some other time."

He turns so quickly that he almost spills one of the mugs on the floor. "No, no, that's not necessary. I'm just… well…" Another sigh is all he manages. He's been doing that a lot lately. His gaze once more falls to the boy sitting on her lap and he blinks. This day is significant in more ways than one. "Happy birthday, Luke," he says softly, but with a gentle smile on his face.

The smile the boy flashes at him is unexpectedly quick, and the warm feeling that envelopes him soon after makes his smile widen in return. "Tanks! I'm fee today!" Luke says in broken Basic, holding up four stubby fingers.

Beru just shakes her head with a knowing smile and puts one of the fingers down. "This is three, Luke. See: one, two, three." She touches each finger as she says this and Luke looks at her with a big grin.

That grin breaks his heart, but he refuses to let his anguish show for the sake of not only Luke, but Beru as well. They didn't come all this way to watch him break down in front of them. "Congratulations, Luke," he says. His voice shakes a little and Beru looks at him, concern flashing over her face, but Luke doesn't seem to notice.

The boy's smile freezes and his brow scrunches a little. "Congatsutashins…" He looks at Beru for an explanation, but Obi-wan answers instead.

"It means I'm happy for you," he says.

Luke seems to consider this for a moment before he smiles again. "Okay."

He offers the boy a cup of tea. "Would you like to try some of this?"

Luke looks at Beru again, and when she nods, he turns back and reaches out for it. "Yes peeze."

Obi-wan lets him take the cup and watches as he grips it with two hands. When it gets close to his face, Luke sniffs a few times and then takes a large sip.

The spray that shoots from the toddler's mouth is almost expected. In fact, Obi-wan had the rag in his hand a split second before it happened. He kneels down with a gentle chuckle and quickly cleans up the mess. When he catches Luke's eye again, the boy is scowling. "That's icky juice."

"Luke," Beru scolds and the boy ducks his head a little. "He did ask you before he gave it to you. You didn't have to have any."

Luke doesn't say anything else. Instead, he scowls some more and hops down from Beru's lap. The two of them stare at his little form as he walks out of earshot into the den and crawls up onto one of the wooden chairs. "We haven't quite gotten the manners down yet," Beru says.

Obi-wan stands up and sits across from her. "At least he said please," he offers, causing the woman to smile. Then he leans back. "Just out of curiosity, what made you come? Especially today when it's raining like this?"

The smile disappears from her face as she considers her answer. "I can't really explain it. Luke seemed to think you were in some sort of trouble, which is weird, because he's never even heard of you. But all of a sudden he's following me around with this frown on his face saying we have to go see Ben, because something's wrong. I told him you were fine, but then he started to get really persistent." She stops and glances at the little boy in the next room. "I finally agreed to take him, but… I'm not really sure that it was _me_ agreeing at all. It was almost as if I didn't have a choice."

He finds that he's slightly angry at that last bit. He never should have left Luke, a force-sensitive baby, in the hands of two people who didn't understand how to deal with him. Not that they're incompetent. He couldn't be more grateful for Owen and Beru. Just the fact that there is too much they will have a hard time dealing with.

But that pales in comparison to the fact that Luke was able to sense his despair from such a great distance away. And at the young age of three. Three! His mouth is drawn into a thin line when he answers. "It's called a Force-suggestion. Sometimes, children exceptionally strong in the Force do things without realizing it and instances like yours can happen. It's completely normal. Unfortunately, I'm afraid you are going to be seeing more of it as he grows up."

Beru is staring at him like he's grown a few more heads and he can't help but smile apologetically. "If you need any help with him, feel free to drop by."

"I'm not sure Owen would let us," she says.

Ah, yes. He'd almost forgot about Owen. That man who had yelled at him the last time he'd attempted to visit. "Oh. Right." He gives her a questioning look and she smiles.

"He's gone for a few days right now."

"You're by yourself, in the middle of the desert, with no one to protect you?" Obi-wan asks, incredulous.

"It's only for a few days, and I can handle a blaster just fine, thank you very much," she says. She's giving him a stern glare, as if daring him to tell her different.

The thing is, he only finds it amusing rather than threatening. Not to mention it's a cause for concern. So yes, he dares to tell her different. "So if a group of Tusken raiders decided to attack you during one of these few days, you're telling me that you are perfectly capable of scaring them off while keeping track of Luke too?"

She hesitates. "I think I could manage. Besides, we haven't seen any raiding parties for the past year or so anyways."

He stands up and takes his mug to the sink. More so just to keep himself from exploding. "When does Owen get back?"

"He should be back tomorrow afternoon," Beru says. "We'll be fine until then. I promise."

"You shouldn't make promises like that in places like this," he says, more to himself than to Beru.

_You will be a Jedi, I promise…_

Luke walks in at that moment and without turning around, Obi-wan knows he's carrying something. The way his signature is so focused in the Force gives it away. "What's dis, mom?"

Obi-wan turns around, registers the frightened look on Beru's face, and glances at the boy. His jaw clenches and he reaches Luke in two quick strides. "That is not a toy, Luke. Can I please have it?"

Luke looks scared at Obi-wan's sudden transformation and gives the silver hilt to him without any hesitation. " 'm sahwy. Didn't know…" He turns and buries his face into Beru's arms, shaking with silent sobs.

Obi-wan stares, shocked. He never meant to scare the boy, just to get the lightsaber out of his hands before it was accidently switched on. But no, that's not why Luke is crying. He had felt the stab of anger in the Force when Obi-wan had seen him holding his father's weapon. He mistook it for anger directed at him.

Obi-wan couldn't be more angry at himself than right now. How could he have been so careless? Not only to leave the lightsaber lying on the floor where Luke could easily get to it, but to then recklessly allow his emotions to run rampant when the boy could clearly pick them up? Stupid! He kneels down and reaches out a hand. Luke flinches when it touches his back, but he doesn't pull away. "Luke, I'm not angry at you. I was just scared that you might hurt yourself. I'm sorry." He sends a calm wave of energy to the boy and feels him relax.

"You didn't do anything wrong," he reassures him. Beru silently watches the exchange, still keeping a wary eye on the weapon in Obi-wan's hand.

Luke turns his head so that he can look at him. His face is streaked with tears, but his eyes are no longer scared. The boy is curious. "What is it?"

He doesn't know how to answer. There are no words, really. Just too many memories that he doesn't want to bring up. "Not now, Luke. When you're older, I'll tell you."

"Much older," Beru confirms with a hard glare. "I think it's time that we got back home, Luke."

Luke is still staring at him, and he can't bring himself to look away. There's something in those eyes that's just so… innocent. Pure. _Light._

He feels something he hasn't felt in a long time. It's a small measure of peace, as if this boy is telling him everything will be okay.

The boy's eyes drop to the lightsaber again. " 's warm."

And it is warm. No longer cold, like when he had held it earlier. It's a lasting warmth too, not just the warmth from being held in a hand for a long period of time. This warmth makes his arm tingle. He notices something else. The smudges are no longer there. "Luke, how long did you have this?"

Luke drops his head and looks away, rubbing his hands together. "Was dirty," he mumbles, emphasizing each syllable.

He doesn't ask how the boy cleaned it. The only thing that mattered was that he did. It certainly hadn't been on Obi-wan's to-do list. He gives the boy a small smile. "Thank you for cleaning it."

Luke looks at him again, his blue eyes twinkling, but Beru stands up and begins to lead him towards the wet pile of clothes still sitting by the door. "Come on, Luke. We have to get you bundled up again."

He follows them and leans against the wall. "I don't believe it's raining anymore."

Beru stops and listens. Sure enough, the thunderous pounding his hovel had been taking has stopped. "Oh," she says and tucks the clothes under her arm. "Well, thank you for your hospitality. Maybe we'll see you again."

"It was my pleasure," he says as he opens the door for them. A few rays of sun have started to poke through the thinning clouds and he blinks, adjusting to the brightness. "Have a safe trip home."

Beru nods and takes Luke's hand, leading him to the speeder they came on. "Bye-bye!" Luke yells back, waving his hand back and forth in that animated way that only a toddler can.

He smiles and waves a hand in return.

When he goes back inside, the first thing that catches his eye are the black streaks on the rug covering his floor. He glances between the rug and the lightsaber still clenched in his hand and smiles. It will only take a decent scrubbing to get them out.

Ten minutes later, the rug is clean.

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><p><em>Please leave a review! It's much appreciated! :)<em>


	5. Four

_Hey an update! Hopefully I'll have one next week too! Anyways, enjoy... :)_

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><p>Today is his birthday. He's turning forty-two, but he feels decades older.<p>

He mutters a soft thanks to the Force that he doesn't have a mirror, because he really, _really_ doesn't want to know how gray his hair is right now. If Anakin were here, he would be sure to point that little tidbit out. He can almost hear the younger man's voice…

"_Well, master, you have approximately two million, seven hundred sixty-two thousand, four hundred and five gray hairs on your head. Actually, that one looks somewhat red, which means you only have two million, seven hundred sixty-two…"_

He knows that his thought is more than accurate, considering the lengths his friend would go to to put forth as much of an exaggeration as possible. He knows the voice in his head is spot on as well, because as hard as he's tried to forget it, it always rings clearly when something triggers a memory.

In this case, his birthday.

_Two chubby, little hands reach up towards him, lifting a plastic starfighter model that, contrary to the age of the boy, is perfectly pieced together. The paint is smooth, maroon and gray, Arfour in the front, painted to match. _

"_Happy birthday, Master Obi-wan."_

He was ten years old then, and still unwilling to just call him 'master' for fear of becoming too distanced. He finds it ironic now, considering that not ten years later, after being knighted, he refused to ever call him by his name again, constantly saying that he felt weird calling him anything _but_ 'master'.

That boy had been such a contradiction. He still was, probably…

The memories have become clearer as of late, and he's stopped trying to force them away. Seeing Luke on that rainy day had changed all of that. Up until that point he had been hoping that Luke would be different from his father. Less destructive, calmer, brown eyes instead of blue, brown hair, like Padme.

Of course he was to be disappointed. He doesn't know why he had gotten his hopes up. His life before had been nothing if not disappointing. What's one more disappointment?

But is it really a disappointment? Seeing Luke had brought him his first ounce of happiness since Mustafar, and it wasn't because he was different. It was because he was a mirror image of Anakin. Blond hair, deep blue eyes, quick smile, quick pout, fearless, curious… he could go on, but he blinks at that point.

Luke is exactly the same, except for one thing. He's light. _Pure_ light. He is light where Anakin was dark. Oh yes, Anakin had been light, far lighter than any other Jedi, but there had always been darkness lurking on the edges. Luke has none of that. And for that, he has reason to hope again.

Happy Birthday.

It brings a soft smile to his face. A reason to celebrate.

He doesn't hesitate this time. Instead, he closes his eyes, leans back to rock in his chair, and folds his hands on his lap, welcoming the memory with open arms.

_It's raining. It's been raining for three days now, ever since they landed on this Force-forsaken planet, and it doesn't look like it's going to stop._

_He shivers suddenly and mutters a few choice words at the chills that constantly rack his body. He's crouched in a muddy ravine next to a few of his men, waiting for an opportunity to attack the separatist forces just over the hill in front of them._

_His boots feel like sponges strapped to his feet and his robe weighs twice as much as it did before, not to mention that his hair is pasted to his head, most likely making him appear exactly like one of those hairy beasts they had run into earlier…_

_Well, that's a flattering thought. He sighs, patience wearing thin._

_He notices Cody walking towards him and is thankful for something else to think about other than their present situation._

_The clone holds out a folded piece of flimsi, secured in a plastic bag to keep it protected from the pouring rain. "From Skywalker, sir. Said it was urgent."_

_His brow furrows in confusion as he takes the bag, cold fingers struggling to open it. "Any reason why he couldn't just comm me?" When Cody doesn't answer he glances up, only to find that his commander is already walking back to his position farther down the ravine._

_He finally gets the bag open and reaches inside for the note, still wondering why Anakin felt it was necessary to write a message, considering he was well over five miles away bogged down in a similar situation. Perhaps he thought their communications were being overheard…_

_He blinks at the words scrawled in Anakin's messy handwriting:_

"_No, we aren't being overheard. Just wanted to make sure you're as drowned as I am. Dinner at Dex's when we get back, and I'M PAYING! Happy birthday, master."_

_The note brings a smile to his face. He doesn't feel so cold anymore._

Anakin hadn't missed even one of his birthdays. Yet, out of every present he received, every bear hug his former padawan had given him, that note had been the most heartwarming gesture he had made.

His smile fades as he realizes that Anakin isn't here this time. He isn't even alive, really. Vader stole him away, and he knows that he most certainly will not be receiving a gift from _him._ The air feels cold all of a sudden and he rises from his chair, reaching for the door to go inside, maybe make some tea like he always did when he felt this way.

His hand stops inches from the door. Owen is walking towards him, having just come into view. He considers ignoring him for a moment. That's what this man deserved for how he had treated him the last time the two of them had met, but then what kind of person would that make him? He sighs and walks out to meet him.

"Owen," he says in greeting.

No smile. Not even a twitch of the mouth. He merely gives him a grim look and holds up a piece of flimsi. "Luke insisted that I give this to you. He wouldn't stop frowning until I did."

He takes the flimsi and nods. "Thanks."

"Stay away from him. He'll be safer that way," Owen says before turning to leave.

He watches the man leave, not offering a goodbye. He doesn't trust himself to say any polite words right now. He only shakes his head and returns to his chair.

The flimsi is folded in a clumsy manner, not even remotely even. Luke probably folded it. He opens it and smiles.

There's a small, gray tube scribbled in the middle with a large, red dot on one side. Yellow lines are coming out of the top in a scrawled arc, resembling an explosion, and he can't help but chuckle a little at the image. Luke didn't know what a lightsaber was yet, but he had come close.

Sort of.

Underneath, written in blue crayon, in the handwriting of a toddler who's just beginning to learn, are five words.

_Congatsutashins. Im hapy for yu._

He wants to cry, but he can't. Instead, he mutters a silent thanks into the Force, hoping that Vader can hear it from wherever he is. Because where Vader is, Anakin is also.

And this gift is as much from him as it from his son.

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><p><em>Please review if you have a few seconds to spare... :)<em>

_Thanks for your patience!_


	6. Five

_Hey, I updated! Thank you all so much for your patience, and hopefully you won't have to wait that long again. :)_

_Enjoy!_

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><p>It looks like river water. From the slight, frothy film on the top down to the almost invisible specks floating lazily beneath the surface. Not to mention the brownish hue that somehow turns to green when the light catches it. Obi-wan hasn't the foggiest idea why he bought the drink in the first place. He hasn't even touched the thing since the bartender set it down.<p>

He briefly reflects that in an attempt to blend in with the crowd he has succeeded in doing just the opposite. Every other customer has actually consumed their drink, whereas he has politely left the cool liquid to fizz and hiss its way out of existence. If only the evaporation process were a little faster he might look like he drank a little bit.

_"Well played, master."_

He barely refrains from rolling his eyes at the sarcastic remark, one made eight years ago in a similar situation. Fortunately, there are no trigger-happy bounty hunters in the near vicinity, so far as he can tell. At least this time he won't be shot at.

_"Well, I'm not about to drink the stuff," he argued. "It looks like something they pulled straight from the sewers."_

_Anakin shook his head, simultaneously knocking down a shot of a somewhat darker substance. "It's not going to kill you. Besides, look at me," he said, gesturing to himself. "I just drank the sludge they scraped from the _sides_ of the sewer and I'm perfectly fine."_

He smiles to himself, remembering that not two minutes later they were facing down a hail of blaster fire from the bounty hunters they had been sent to capture. Not exactly a turn of events that he would deem 'perfectly fine'.

_"Great, master, just great," Anakin muttered from behind him. "Maybe if you'd taken at least a sip of that drink they wouldn't have noticed us!"_

_He ducked, feeling Anakin do the same, as a bolt flew above their heads and he rose again to flick another harmlessly wide. "Naturally, it's all _my_ fault. Might I say that I wasn't the only one in the entire cantina that didn't call for something alcoholic? The Ithorian a couple seats down was sipping a water!"_

_"Hard to believe an Ithorian would even _be_ here!" Anakin tossed back, redirecting two bolts into the ceiling. _

_Despite the heavy fire surrounding them, he managed to sigh. "Not the _point_, Anakin!"_

_"Uh, yeah the point! You should at least be able to manage a _little_ alcohol, master, for the sake of the mission... oh... not good..." _

_He felt, rather than heard, Anakin go down. Then he did hear him. Dry heaving on the floor. Suddenly, his own work load doubled as he was forced to cover the both of them, which he did with relative ease, having taken much heavier fire over the years._

_But that didn't make things okay. He managed to send a couple of shots back at their attackers, causing a short pause in the fire. "Anakin?" he said, pivoting on one foot._

_The younger man was still doubled over, hugging his stomach with both arms, lightsaber carelessly discarded a few feet away. He managed to hold up a hand. "I'm okay, just give me a minute."_

_Had the situation not been the way it was, he might have laughed, but in the current moment it was hardly amusing. Anakin was, in every meaning of the word, useless. He glanced at the three bounty hunters that were starting to regroup. "I've already given you two. Now get up and help me finish this."_

_In spite of his apparent pain, Anakin glared up at him. "I'm in _pain_, master. I feel horrible... ungh..." He dry heaved again, bucking forward._

_The bounty hunters started shooting again and, with an exasperated sigh, Obi-wan started deflecting again. "Great, Anakin, just great," he mimicked. "One would think that you could handle a bit of sewer sludge for the sake of the mission..."_

_"Shut up," Anakin grumbled from his place on the floor._

Obi-wan glances at the drink, the smile on his face threatening to turn into a chuckle. He knows it won't, though, in the same way that he knows he will never cry again. Anakin wasn't the only part of his life that Vader stole away.

He sighs, something he knows he will _always_ be able to do, and dishes out a couple of coins for the drink he hasn't even touched. Turning, his gaze sweeps over the small cantina, catching every man and woman in the time it takes for him to blink. All of them are different, unique, and yet all of them have one thing in common.

Ignorance.

If they knew anything at all, most of them would hesitate to meet his gaze and a few would meet it squarely and probably try to kill him. They hadn't the slightest clue. Rather than pity or scorn, he is faced with blank looks of indifference. They are content in their ignorance.

Obi-wan envies them. Another sigh, this one with a hint of frustration, and he leaves. The twin suns beat down relentlessly, causing his skin to immediately perspire in a vain effort to cool itself off. He's used to the sensation and he ignores it, heading vaguely in the direction of the place he parked his speeder. It's an old machine. One that will begin to fall apart soon if he doesn't find the right parts.

But that can wait. He needs to get back so he can meditate, maybe fall into another memory where he actually has the ability to laugh...

Luke. He stops short at the sight of the child. The kid is kneeling at the side of his speeder, poking at something while Owen looks on with distant interest. Apparently, Owen seems to sense that he's watching them and looks over in his direction, eyes flicking from side to side and then settling.

He is pleasantly surprised to see relief flash across the man's face. Owen bends down and touches Luke's shoulder, pointing in his direction. When the child turns and sees him, Obi-wan suddenly finds that he's able to walk again. Luke flashes a brilliant smile and starts to run towards him.

"Ben! Ben! Uncle Owen said we could wait for you!" he shouts at the top of his lungs. This draws a few amused glances, but none that Obi-wan deem threatening. It pains him that he even has to pay attention to such things.

Luke doesn't stop when he reaches him, but instead skids straight into his legs, wrapping his two skinny arms all the way around them. Obi-wan is too startled to do anything but wait for the boy to finish, and when Luke does, he's faced with an impish grin and two shining, blue eyes that threaten to draw him all the way in. He has the feeling that Luke has used them to his advantage more than once.

"We saw your speeder! It's got black stuff coming out of it!"

Luke is entirely too excited about the fact that his speeder has a leak, and Obi-wan isn't sure whether he likes that or not. He likes it in the sense that it reminds him of Anakin at ten years of age, wanting to fix anything that happened to be even the slightest bit faulty. It's that very observation that makes him wary of the child as well. For where Anakin tried to fix, Anakin succeeded in further damaging what he was trying to fix.

He _knows_ he can draw the same conclusion with Luke. It's the blond hair and the giant blue eyes that are proof of that. Not to mention the sudden obsession with his speeder, which Luke is sprinting back to as fast as his little legs can carry him.

Owen still hasn't moved, but he's watching Luke with a small smile. Much better than scowling at a certain former Jedi.

Obi-wan decides not to waste this rare opportunity and walks the last few yards to his speeder. Luke is once more on his knees, poking at a few wires that have gotten loose. Owen's watchful gaze has now transferred to Obi-wan. "Ben."

Not much of a greeting, but he can hardly complain, since that was the very nature of the last greeting he had given the man himself. He doesn't change anything here. "Owen."

There's a short pause in which neither of them speaks, but he manages to ignore the awkwardness of the moment by listening to Luke mumble incoherent words at the inner workings of his speeder.

Owen finally sighs and scratches at the back of his neck. "Luke wouldn't leave once he saw your speeder."

As if that explained everything. Owen could have dragged Luke home if he'd wanted to, no doubt about that. Obi-wan feels a brow shoot up in response, a reaction he stopped trying to control more than a decade ago. "Oh?"

Owen stares at him, as if he's trying to decide whether he's being taken seriously or not. Without breaking eye contact, he nods. "He insisted on waiting for you."

Stars end, this man could beat every side of a bush and still not make a dent. "And this bothers you?" he asks, already knowing the answer.

Owen hesitates before nodding once more, his gaze growing colder. "He's not safe by himself, Ben, and neither are you. Put the two of you together and things are bound to happen."

He can't help but roll his eyes. "He's five years old, Owen. You and I both know that the Empire doesn't put bounties out on children of that age, or children in general."

"I'm not talking about the Empire."

This comes as a surprise, but he hides it well. He doesn't care how Owen found out; all he cares about it that he knows now, and that changes things. He narrows his eyes. "I see. Then you must also realize why I am here as well. In case you haven't notice, I've not once made any attempt at seeing Luke since you confronted me the last time. _He's_ the one who wants to see _me._ I can hardly help that."

Owen nods again. "I know, but you don't have to encourage him. Don't get close to him. The less he knows the better."

"I disagree," Obi-wan says quietly, but with an air of authority that comes naturally at this point in his life.

Owen takes a single step forward in response. Not the reaction Obi-wan was hoping for, but one that he's had more than his share of experience with. One side of his mouth twitches upward and Owen's frown deepens. "It doesn't matter what you think. You're not the one raising him, so you have no say in the matter."

His teeth grind together in barely controlled anger and he has to look away to keep himself from telling the man that he's wrong on all accounts. He knows it's a selfish thought, but if Owen were to be honest with himself, he wouldn't be trying to keep him away from Luke. "If you are so determined to keep me away, why did you wait for me?" he asks, glancing down at Luke.

"To _tell_ you to stay away. You're protecting him, I get that," Owen says. "But do it from a distance. The more time he spends with you, the greater his chances of becoming like his father." Owen's gaze doesn't waver. "Neither of us want that to happen."

There is no remorse in those eyes. No regret. The man meant to say those words and he means them. It hurts. Force, it _hurts_.

Obi-wan is at a loss for words. He's always blamed himself for Anakin's fall. Always. But to hear another man say it out loud, meaning every word, it doubles the pain. He takes a step back, looks at Luke again and realizes that he could potentially hurt the child.

Luke senses the conflicting emotions between the two men and stops his fiddling to look over his shoulder at him. "Ben? Was' wrong?"

He asked _him _first, not Owen. The child trusts him. Anakin's _son_ trusts him, something that Anakin himself had never been able to fully accomplish.

_LIAR!_

_I HATE YOU!_

He squeezes his eyes shut, blocking out Anakin's last words. Opening them again, he makes himself smile at the youngster. "No, Luke, nothing is wrong." For the moment, anyway. "Have you fixed it yet?"

Luke's shoulders sag in exaggerated frustration and his face contorts into a little scowl. Luke accepted his answer, just like that. He turns to send a withering look at the offending wires and swats one with a few fingers. "Dey won't fit anymore. Der's some orange stuff making them fall apart."

Rust. Obi-wan grins. "That's okay, Luke. I can fix it up later. Thank you for trying to help."

The boy's scowl blossoms into another radiant smile and he stands up. Owen glares at him again. "I won't have you hurt him like you hurt Anakin," he says, too quiet for Luke to hear.

Obi-wan still chokes a little at the accusation, but he knows now that this is completely different. He ruffles Luke's hair and steps towards his speeder. "If you need me, you know where to find me," he tosses over his shoulder. Then he seats himself and starts the engine. The loud sound causes the boy to grin yet again. Obi-wan gives him a small wave. "Goodbye Luke."

"Bye!" Luke shouts.

He leaves them both behind in a cloud of dust, something he's sure the child thoroughly enjoys.

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><p><em>Please review if you can spare a few seconds! :)<em>


	7. Six

_Sorry for the wait... again. Enjoy! :)_

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><p>He realizes now how precious water really is.<p>

One would think it wouldn't have taken him six years to make that discovery, let alone three decades as a Jedi. He feels guilty for that. Having been to countless planets and systems during the Clone Wars, he has seen more than his share of poverty, malnutrition, slavery, torture, and other terrible living conditions. Thinking back, he can think of many places and situations where water was a scarce commodity, and yet he never truly realized how much of a simple blessing it could be.

In those times, the Jedi had never really been Jedi at all. They were soldiers, generals, warriors. Their armies were usually supplied with at least the bare necessities, water being one of them. He only remembers experiencing severe thirst a few times, mostly when he and Anakin had been stranded or lost on some Force-forsaken planet that was typically a breeding ground for the most bizarre creatures he had ever seen. Creatures that tended to have quite the appetite for stranded, lost, and thirsty Jedi. One did not have time to dwell on his need for water when the more pressing need was to try and not get devoured by bizarre creatures.

There was only one time when he had experienced true thirst and hunger pains so severe that he swears he can still feel them by merely remembering. What happened on Jabiim is _not _worth remembering, but he knows he will never forget. He still has the scars...

Luke teeters out of the door, limping a little as he follows Owen a little ways from their small home. He must have bruised or scraped his leg recently, but at this distance Obi-wan can't determine the extent of the injury. The macrobinoculars he's using are at least twenty years old and have more dings and hitches than the old speeder model he's been driving around in. Only two lens settings work and neither provide much of a close-up view, but even so he's still able to tell that the boy isn't happy about something just from the way he's walking. He can't help but smirk a little bit at the striking similarity to his former padawan. Anakin had never had to speak for Obi-wan to tell what sort of mood he was in.

Luke has obviously picked up that trait as well. Whatever is wrong with his leg doesn't seem to be bothering him at all as he totters along, taking two steps for every one that Owen takes. It's the moisture vaporator. Clearly. From Owen's posture, Obi-wan can see that he's not as irritated as the boy following him, just slightly annoyed.

Moisture farming is a new way of living to Obi-wan, and one that he finds very intriguing. During his short stint in the AgriCorps, he had learned briefly of how to use a moisture vaporator, but once he returned to the Temple, that little bit of data had deserted him. Now he wishes he remembered. The vaporator is an odd shape for a droid. He still finds it a little strange that it is, in fact, a droid. One that just sits in one spot for days at a time until someone decides to move it. It's a tall, spindly thing. A little wider at the bottom, but not much. There are so many parts to it, so many buttons and knobs, that he doesn't even try to figure out how the thing works. He only knows that somehow it takes the very little amount of moisture in the air and transforms it into liquid water, something that's very valuable in a place like this.

Owen reaches it first, but Luke arrives only seconds later and brushes by his adopted father to examine it. Obi-wan smiles at this. He can readily picture himself standing in Owen's place and Anakin in Luke's. The little tike is obviously good with machines. Probably anything mechanical. But it becomes very clear only moments later that Luke doesn't have even a smidgen of the little amount of patience that Anakin had to begin with.

Luke pushes only two buttons before he comes to a decision. He stands from his crouch, still barely up to Owen's waist - small for his age - and pummels the thing with a firm kick. Obi-wan very nearly laughs at the sight. Owen seems stunned until his young charge pulls his leg back for another go. Only then does he pull Luke away and crouch down to examine the vaporator himself, glancing over his shoulder every now and then to make sure that Luke isn't going to try a sneak attack when he's not looking.

He wishes he could see their faces a little better. He can read body language only so much before having to rely on intuition to guess at their conversation. Or lack thereof. Luke is simply standing back, little arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the larger man's back, or maybe at the droid; he can't tell.

Owen works on it a little longer and then stands up, wiping his hands on his pants and beckoning Luke forward. This time, Luke seems intrigued, and though Obi-wan has little respect for the man, he feels a small bit of gratitude towards him for this small gesture. He's clearly a good teacher, for the two spend the better part of fifteen minutes going over how Owen was able to fix it. He pauses every now and then when Luke points to something and mutters a few words.

_"But you said he didn't die, so why did they burn him? We should have stopped them!"_

_He flinches at the unspoken accusation, an exhausted sigh escaping through parted lips. He can barely stand to meet that broken gaze, but when he does, he sees past the hurt and anger to the confusion hiding beneath. He offers the child his hand. The boy hesitates, before taking it and he draws him close. _

_"His body died, Anakin, but the Force took his spirit."_

_"Oh." He can tell the boy is still confused, but not as angry. "That wasn't very nice."_

_It almost makes him smile. Almost. "You and I might not agree with it, but we have to accept what the Force does. He's in a better place now, anyways, probably laughing at the two of us since we're still stuck in these frail bodies of ours." It's a weak attempt at a joke, and most likely a hopeless cause since they're both still so deep in their grief._

_That's why he's surprised when Anakin smiles up at him and snuggles in a little closer. "So we will see him again? When?"_

_"Why do you ask?" He's still taken in by the smile, unable to offer the boy an actual answer._

_"Because I miss him."_

_He swallows the lump in his throat, but it only disappears for a second before it rises again, threatening to break free in a torrent of tears. "It might be a while, Anakin, but you will see him again. I promise."_

_"You promise? Really?"_

_"Yes."_

Yet another broken promise. He hopes Owen is a better teacher to Luke than he was to Anakin. He watches the two of them stand and head back, but they only go a few steps before Luke pauses and turns.

And for a moment everything disappears and it's just him and Luke. A warmth that no desert could ever produce washes over him and he shudders at the feel of it, welcoming it. Slowly, he lowers the macrobinoculars and stares. Now... now they are just two miniscule specks in the distance. Black dots in a sea of dust.

But the smaller speck, the one that has dirty blond hair and shining blue eyes, the purpose of his trek out here, _that_ one, had just looked right at him.

He stands, dusts himself off and starts descending the dune that had provided such a nice view for him. Then he starts walking. He refuses to look back, partly to avoid seeing Owen's angry gestures at being watched, but mostly because he doesn't want to see Luke turn away. Anakin had turned from him often enough, and though he knows that Luke doesn't mean it in the same way, he just can't bear to watch it happen again. It's a small form of denial on his part, but he cherishes that image in a way that no other would understand. Luke turned to him.

Turned _to_ him. Not away, never away. Never again.

What does the child want from him? Not that Owen will ever let him get close to Luke again, but if he did... What would he do? Try and teach the kid? Show him how to channel the Force, how to use it, how to serve it? Would he show him the light side first, or the dark? Would he even be able to show him anything, say anything?

It grates on him the entire journey home. He only absently notices that he doesn't even have to check for landmarks to make sure he's going the right way. His footprints are still there, soft imprints in the sand, untouched by a wind that's not there. Today is a dry day. Dry even for Tatooine. His throat is parched. He can already feel the back of his neck begin to burn, the skin turning pink and raw, his nerves firing up from the prickly pull of his collar against it.

He notices all of this and yet he doesn't. None of it seems important at the moment.

Force help him... what would he tell the child? The past? Every little detail? Surely not. As if he could even if he wanted to. It hurts enough to just remember, but put those memories into words would surely prove unbearable.

What about Anakin?

Anakin...

_I HATE YOU!_

He reaches his little hovel and doesn't hesitate to open the door and step inside. It's usually only a small relief to go from three-digit temperatures to a heat slightly below boiling, but today the difference seems magnified and he sighs with pleasure. In here, it's not quite so hot. At least not hot enough to dredge up images of that fiery planet. The only place in this universe that might come close to Hell itself.

What would he tell Luke about his father? Was _that_ what Luke wanted from him? Answers? Did he want what Owen and Beru refused to tell him? The truth?

A long time ago, he had believed in the truth. But times had changed. Today it is lies that keep men safe, and he understands that even if he hates it. Telling the boy would get him killed.

Perhaps a half-truth. He's a master at half-truths. Always had been and still is, but now he's starting to believe that his half-truths are still lies. A soft, shadowy cloak of carefully woven threads. Each thread a truth when it stands alone, but together a masterfully-woven lie.

He's beginning to despise the talent that had long-ago made him famous. The half-truth pops into his mind before the real truth even comes to be, a habit formed from constantly living on the edge during a time of war. A skill he never wanted, but only ever needed. Negotiating had been cake for him, child's play, him seeing checkmate before others had even set their pieces. It was a game he had excelled at, mastered even.

But this time it is no game. This isn't a Separatist leader he's dealing with, or a battlefield of droids he has to break down, or even a Sith Lord bent on killing him. He can't smooth talk his way out of this one.

Because not an hour ago the kid had looked straight through him and everything came rip-roaring back, smothering his mind with the past, mixing it with the present, and presenting countless possible futures. Only one future is right.

Truth. "Anakin is your father. I tried to kill him."

The words fairly sting coming out and he walks to his table to sit down. Yeah, the kid would take that well, alright.

Perhaps he should just go after Vader himself, fix things before Luke got involved, fix them while he still had the strength and skill to do so. At this point Vader is still probably adjusting to the suit anyway, still struggling to move due to the pain it causes.

No. It's a foolish thought, not to mention selfish. And suicidal. And just plain _wrong_.

But he can't do it. Won't do it. Should, but won't. He decides on a half-truth, keeping to his safe path of simple manipulation of words, twisting the truth to make it more comfortable, less hurtful.

How would he say it when the time came? How to tell Luke about both Vader and Anakin? He supposes Anakin had been killed by Vader, in a way... from a certain point of view... that might work.

He's still thinking it over when his eyes stray to the pile of papers half-tossed into a corner of the kitchen, near the disposal unit. He blinks, mind going numb. The top one is a sketch. The sopping wet womp rat, soaked to the bone, nothing _but_ bones, really. A grizzled old thing. Ugly and all but drowned. He can see the detail from where he's sitting. It's still half-finished, the shading of the background only partly done.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's over there and moving it out of the way, revealing the next sketch. This one is a little more promising. Yes, it is still another womp rat, but dry and maybe even a little nice to look at. The fur is silky and smooth, the creature healthier than its counterpart on the previous page. He sets it to the side and then goes still.

_Luke,_

_I wasn't able to see you today. Your father... step-father..._

That part is crossed out, a messy scribble over the top of it. He continues.

_I wasn't able to visit you today, but I want you to know that I tried. I wish I could walk in and see you sitting in your father's lap, but that time will never come around, I'm afraid._

He doesn't finish reading, though he remembers the words as clearly as if he'd written them only a minute ago. They are scratched on the page, not his usual nice handwriting, but a desperate font, almost, as if he had to get them out and put them somewhere. Anywhere.

The truth.

He grapples for the pencil buried beneath the rest of the pages. Once he grasps it, he holds it over the page, still sitting on the floor and not caring one bit. He flips the page over in his hands and lays it flat on the cold surface beneath him, his hand hovering over the blank page, pencil shaking.

Then it steadies and he begins.

The truth appears silently, not quite as painful as spoken words, but carrying just as much weight. Luke will hear a half-truth when the time comes, but he'll make sure that the truth in its ugly, but pure form is there for him to find.

_There was once a Jedi-_

He stops again and crosses it out. Then he frowns and erases it instead. Another half-truth. Him telling a story woven into reality. It's not what he wants, so he begins again.

_There is a man called Darth Vader. More machine than man, and a monster to most. To some he is the epitome of darkness, a rotting hole of hatred and rage. He kills, and he kills willingly. For pleasure, for revenge, for the twisted joy he gets from the challenge. He thrives on power, relishing in the weakness and inferiority of others. He is terror itself. Anguish drowning out hope. A cold that cannot be warmed. And yet he demands admiration. Admiration born of contempt, because those inferior to the darkness know they will never be as strong..._

It's a rant almost, a vivid description of what he himself couldn't prevent, and it pains him to see the words come onto the page, but he continues, knowing it has to be done. The truth has to come out somehow... he pauses, lifts the pencil, leaves a space below the hefty beginning and sets it down again. Then he smiles a little, feels his heart get a touch warmer. What he writes next is something no one else knows. His own little secret. A sad truth, but one that holds a great deal of hope.

This is what Luke needs to know.

He slowly begins to write again, carefully scratching the words onto the page, through the page almost...

_He is lost. He is confusion, he is pain, he is fear and doubt. Not to others, but to himself. He has no guidance, for darkness does not make the best of guides. It's a blind guide leading the way to a very steep cliff, one that has no bottom. An endless fall. But he is not falling yet, because Vader is just the shadow. Every light causes a few shadows to follow, and the brightest lights often cast the darkest shadows._

_There is a Jedi you may have heard about..._

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><p>Please leave a review if you can spare a few seconds! Thanks for reading! :)<p> 


	8. Seven

**_Well... ahem... it's been a while. But here's an update! Thanks for all of your wonderful patience! :)_**

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><p>He feels exposed, naked almost. Yet another part of his former life has been taken from him, only this time he did it himself.<p>

_The rest of it was your fault too,_ a small part of him whispers. And for a moment he agrees, but then he shoves the thought back into the shadows it came from. He's pleased to find that it's getting easier to push those thoughts away now that he has the will to do so. A glance at the small table near the kitchen brings a slight smile to his face. Luke's book is coming along nicely.

Well, notes really. Not quite what he would classify as an actual book, and it likely never will be. It started out as a detailed description of Anakin's life, but he was forced to stop after only a few dozen pages. Scribbling out the final minutes of Qui-gon's life had been painful and he still had yet to add anything to it, so at the moment, it really only includes the first few months of his and Anakin's time together.

And countless facts about the Jedi Order and the former Republic it served. That stack of flimsi, he reflects, is actually quite taller than Anakin's section. He'd written them down as soon as they'd become thought: Jedi katas and lightsaber forms, the politics of various years, the progression of the war, the digression of order into chaos, the basic life of a padawan, meditation techniques, the best description of the Force he could give, short descriptions of various planets and systems, slightly longer descriptions of many Jedi... even those most had never heard about... those were the ones he kept remembering...

He still remembers them vividly. Some had looked asleep aside from the stab wounds and slashes caused by a lightsaber. The bloodless cuts that had completely bisected a few. Others, having fallen from the higher levels of the Temple, were broken, bruised, and contorted in ways that made his stomach churn. And the children...

_"Do you like kids, Master Obi-wan?"_

_He glances over the datapad he's reading and focuses on the boy sitting at his feet. Anakin is busy piecing together a small droid that he salvaged from one of Coruscant's many scrap disposal yards. A stray wire catches one of his fingers, sending a slight jolt up his small arm and through the rest of his skinny body - the boy is having a hard time gaining weight, it seems. Neither one of them has had much of an appetite lately, though. The pain is still too fresh..._

_"Well, do you?" This time Anakin stops his tinkering and looks at him, blond brows furrowed in unrecognizable emotion. _

_He sets the datapad down and nods. "Of course."_

_"Do you mean that?"_

_He tilts his head. The question, though said in the innocence of a nine-year-old, is heavy with meaning. Anakin really wants to know. He finds that every conversation is like this with the boy: innocent, yet calculating, simple, yet incredibly complicated. So he treats it as such, with as much seriousness as if he'd been talking to Master Yoda. "Absolutely," he answers. He manages to smile. "Why do you ask?"_

_Anakin goes back to work again, apparently satisfied with the answer. "It's good that you do, cuz I don't wanna be stuck with someone who doesn't. People around here seem kind of serious, even the ones in my classes."_

_At this he frowns. "Serious? Anakin, there are many children here. I assure you that they are well-liked around here as well..."_

_The boy shakes his head causing some longer hair to flop down over his eyes. He hasn't had a chance to give the boy the proper cut yet. "There aren't kids here, Master Obi-wan. They're all too serious, and we never get to play."_

_He hates the fact that he's feeling defensive, especially since he knows Anakin isn't purposefully trying to insult him or anyone else. But even so, he opens his mouth to 'politely' tell the boy he's wrong... and then shuts it again, response halted by the lump growing in his throat._

_Memories of his own childhood are all too fresh, and he realizes it really wasn't much of a childhood at all. In fact, he'd murdered someone at the age of thirteen - NO. He's moved past that._

_Instead, he reaches for a piece of the droid and offers it to Anakin who gives him a warm smile and takes it. "Thanks," Anakin says, before fixing it to the others. _

_No, he was never a child, not in the real sense of the word, but this boy in front of him is every bit of what he never was. Oddly enough, he feels a small spark of happiness at that; that at least one child was surviving in a world where true children were rare._

_Yes, he likes children. He likes them very much, especially this one. For the first time in a long and bitter few months, he mutters a silent 'thank you' to his former teacher. He brushes the lone tear away before Anakin has a chance to see it, and then he picks up another piece to offer him. _

The children...

His eyes pinch shut for a few seconds as he wills the memory away and diverts his attention from the stacks of flimsi on the table. He still doesn't understand where he went wrong, how Anakin had even been capable of those things. And he's still afraid of that, of what he doesn't understand, because if he knew what went wrong he might be able to fix all of this.

_No,_ something whispers_, it can't be fixed._

He sighs, standing from his seat on the floor, groaning a little at the dull throb in his knees. Maybe this can't be fixed by _him_, but certainly by someone else. He glances at the table again, where all of his scribbled notes and painful scratches have been etched into flimsi, torn from his past and placed where they can't hurt him anymore.

Luke will fix it. He had to. He _will_.

Enough of that, though. The problems of the future could wait; they would still be there when he chose to brood over them again. The present held enough problems in itself. He grips the large shard of durasteel- bought for a pittance at the junk shop - in one hand and examines his transformed appearance. It makes him scowl, that things had finally come to this point.

He looks younger, though, he has to admit. In getting rid of the beard, he seems to have also shaved at least six or seven years off. While the graying scruff has disappeared, he is shocked to see a startling amount of wrinkles beginning to wind themselves into his once youthful features, not to mention that he looks thin. Has he really been neglecting himself that much?

Then his eyes meet those of the image trapped in his makeshift mirror and the moment freezes.

_"If I may, General, you look thin."_

_Of course he did. He'd just returned from what he might have called 'hell' had he not known what hell really was. "Still recovering, I'm afraid," he grunted, slightly irritated with the observation._

_His commander hesitated. "Shouldn't you still be in a bed, then? Being back out on the front lines isn't good for your - "_

_"I assure you, Cody, that my body can handle it," he snapped. Then he registered the withdrawn look on the man's face and sighed. "I appreciate your concern, though. Thank you."_

_Cody didn't acknowledge the 'thank you'. He merely locked eyes with him and said, "Your mind, general, not your body. I'm well aware of the sustaining power of the Force in relation to your body. But remember you are still just a man. The mind is not so easily healed." He lifted a hand and placed it on his general's shoulder. "As your friend, Obi-wan, please... don't do this to yourself. Rest. You need rest."_

_He stared the man down, tired of people telling him he needed a break. Tired of wasted advice, thoughtful remarks thrown to a man who knew better. He _knew_ he needed rest, but if he rested, who would pick up the slack? Who would be willing to fill in? His men, lately, had been constantly urging him to take a week or so to escape it all. Somehow, they seemed to know what he had recently gone through and were determined to make it all go away, disappear from memory, as if it had never happened._

_Unlikely. In fact, _never _likely. _

_Besides, he couldn't rest. Not when there was a war being fought and not when the future of the galaxy rested squarely with those who fought it. There was no time for rest. Rest would come when it was all over and he could breathe easy again._

_He shook free of the man's grasp and took a step back, out of reach. "I'm fine, Cody. I promise." No he wasn't, not really. "Ready the others. We leave in half an hour." He turned and began to walk away._

_"Skywalker told me what happened."_

_He stopped, almost giving in. He was that close to letting it all go, running away from this blasted, Force-forsaken, kriffin' war to a place where he could just escape from it all. Cody almost freed him. Almost..._

_But no. It would wait. It had to. He didn't even turn around. "Ready the men, Cody."_

He had never really accepted help when it had been offered. Even going to the healers had been involuntary, Anakin dragging him in by his robes or shooting him with some odd-colored drug so he couldn't resist. It had never seemed right to be sitting around, helplessly forced to receive help and care when others around him were suffering so much more than he was.

He wants help now. He wants to know that someone else is there beside him, offering support. But he's completely alone, an ancient relic from a time long forgotten. Odd, considering it hasn't even been a decade yet...

"I'm getting too old for this..." he mutters to himself. He really shouldn't be saying that in his mid-forties. Tossing the scrap back on the floor, he strides over to the table and picks up a worn piece of flimsi separate from both piles. It has an old picture of him on it, the only picture he'd ever willingly allowed. Stolen from the Temple Files. He's not even surprised that they managed to retrieve it, only that it took them this long to distribute it. The reward for his capture makes him frown a little in mock annoyance. _Only_ a million credits? That's _all_ he was worth? Insulting.

And then he feels nervous for a second when he considers the amount of bounty hunters that will be after him in addition to Imperial Forces and Darth Vader himself.

Perhaps he should move in with the womp rats. They would never think to look there...

Nah, they'll never recognize him anyway. Anyone short of Vader himself wouldn't even spare him a second glance. This is the first time in a little over twenty years that he's gone without a beard, and after he dyes his hair he knows he won't have to worry a bit.

And still he takes a seat at the table, unable to comprehend that in such a short time his entire life had been flipped completely upside down and turned inside out. He had been brought to the Temple in a time of peace, he had been trained as a protector of peace, as a true Jedi, he had been forced to become a soldier out of necessity, and now... now he's a fugitive. On the social ladder, he supposes that is just below bounty hunter and right above the scum that live in Tatooine's slums.

_Nice_. Just _lovely._

But he's safe. That's what matters at the moment.

_"Master! Thank the Force! Come on, we have to go before -" Comprehension dawns on him and his brows furrow. "Master? Obi-wan... what's _wrong_?"_

_He gives Anakin a sympathetic smile. For the first time in a long time he doesn't have the right words. "I... they.." He sighs. "I've been injected, Anakin. A wh-while ago..." He frowns at the fact that he's begun to stutter. It must be working faster than he'd thought it would. He winces when a muscle in his arm seizes for a second. "I'll make sure they don't follow y-you."_

_Sudden determination hardens his former padawan's face into stone and the young man grabs him by the arm, starts to drag him forward. "No, master. You're coming with us, with everyone else. Ahsoka's getting us a ship -"_

_"Anakin."_

_The tone makes him stop and turn. Desperation has replaced determination and Obi-wan swears the man's holding back a tear or two. "I'm not going to leave you to die."_

_The skittering of metal against metal echoes through the corridors. They're coming. He smiles slightly, drawing on the Force to smother the pain for just a short time. "There is no death, Anakin... only the Force. I'll miss you, my friend."_

_"No, master, that's not -"_

_Obi-wan gives him no time to finish. He shoves one hand sideways, hitting a console on the wall, and simultaneously shoves his other hand forward, unleashing a wave of energy that catches Anakin in the gut. Emergency doors begin to slam into place, but Anakin is already well ahead of them, carried through the air on a warm current that echoes with the sudden hum of a blade that has sprung to life._

_Obi-wan stares at the thick, reinforced door for a moment, resting in the knowledge that his brother is safely behind five more just like it. Then he turns, spinning the familiar weapon in an elegant flourish._

_Dozens of droids greet him with a synchronized lifting of dozens of weapons, safeties off, ready to fire. This is not death. This is not pain._

_He closes his eyes, sinking deep._

_There is only the Force._

He has never been suicidal, not really. That in no way meant he had never wished for death. What most had viewed as selfless sacrifice he had meant as an opportunity to escape. He never went searching for such opportunities, but whenever they came he had always been willing to take them.

Selfish. Always selfish, never selfless.

He remembers that attempt quite vividly. The poison should have killed him much sooner, but sinking so deep into the Force had sustained him for longer than it should've.

_Light. He sees light... coming from windows. So, it _still _wasn't his time... _A_ knot forms in his stomach, slight disappointment at having lived, but quickly unravels when two strong arms lift him up in a warm embrace. "'nkin?" he mumbles, choking on the thick folds of Anakin's robes._

_His muttering is lost beneath the steady stream of affectionate names flowing from the young man's mouth. He frees himself just in time to hear the last little bit. "...blasted, bull-headed, son of a gundark..." Anakin stares at him, expression lost in the gray area between incredible relief and overwhelming irritation. "You stubborn chosski!" he explodes, turning and beginning to pace. "Do you know how _long_ it took me to get through all of those doors! And then I found you lying in a limp, singed, Obi-wan puddle with what's left of probably close to sixty droids... and you didn't save me a single one!"_

_Chosski? That's a new one... He accepts the expected outburst with a simple shrug and leans back into the comforting pillows behind him, closing his eyes. "You were supposed to leave," he feels compelled to remind him._

_A rough shove to his shoulder makes him sigh and sit up again. Anakin's glaring at him, but there is no anger there. In fact, he actually looks scared. "If you die, it's not going to be because I left you."_

_He crosses his arms, or tries to - the IV gets in the way - and stares the younger man down. "Some situations are out of your control, Anakin. How many died because you came back for me?" It's a cruel question, he knows, but he needs his friend to understand._

_Anakin turns from him and faces the window. "That's not the point..."_

_"Anakin..." he presses._

_The man's shoulders tense up a little. "Are you even happy I came back for you?" _

_The question is soft-spoken, but it cuts into him like a shiv, digging deep and twisting. Trying to help his friend see reason no longer seems so important. Does Anakin really not see that he cares for him, _loves_ him even...? He reaches out a hand, grabs Anakin's arm in a gentle squeeze. "Of course I am," he says when he turns around again. "Thank you."_

_It's not much, but he knows Anakin can see the depth of what he's saying. It's in the way Anakin's anger and uncertainty fades from his face. Instead he's searching for something, staring back with a question in his eyes. "Do you think that by dying you'll save me?"_

_And that's when he gets it, what he's been putting Anakin through every single time he's pulled a stunt like this. Qui-gon... "I'm sorry."_

_Anakin's gaze doesn't waver. "I left my mother, Obi-wan. And she died." He pauses. "I'm not going to leave you too, and don't you make me."_

_Neither of them speak the hidden implication behind those words, but Obi-wan suddenly knows why the Force is refusing to let him die._

_Its Chosen One needs a father._

He needs to keep himself safe now, and that means no more jumping at tempting opportunities to join the Force. Besides, the Force _still_ probably wouldn't let him. He knows Anakin is still out there somewhere, buried underneath that monstrosity he helped create. And despite the existence of Darth Vader, he would still be a father for Anakin, looking out for his son when he could not.

He needs to go into town to get something to dye his hair with. Ink would do just fine, even some kinds of fruit juice would stain for a while. Filled with renewed purpose, he snatches a pouch of druggats off of a shelf he had finished last week. It had taken him a while to earn them. During his first years on the planet he had managed to do enough odd jobs to earn enough money to live off of for a while. Now it was enough to just trade his furniture for straight cash.

He shrugs into his robe, scowling at how ragged it's beginning to look. Soon it would be time to change the rest of his appearance as well...

Four knocks freeze him in his tracks. The transition from desert hermit to Jedi Master is a seamless one, born from years of nothing but war. It's also a necessary one, because the Force is screaming in warning. Whoever this visitor is, he knows it's not one to be trusted.

"One moment!" he calls, careful to keep his voice casual, as if nothing was wrong. He takes a fraction of a second to consider the dusty box he now keeps hidden in the trunk over in the corner. It might be handy to have his old weapon in his hand, ready to be used.

_No_, the Force whispers, soothing his nerves. Even as it warns him, it reassures him that it _still_ is not his time. He sighs ruefully. _Of course_ he isn't going to die. That would be too merciful at this point in his life.

He leaves the weapon where it is.

It takes him only a few strides to reach the door and he doesn't hesitate to open it. The blaster is the first thing he notices; hard not to when it's only a few inches away from his gut, ready to deliver a fatal shot that would surely cause him excruciating pain in his last moments.

But he's not afraid. No. This man won't harm him. Though he has taken drastic measures to change his appearance as well, Obi-wan doesn't need a second glance. It takes only one look into those dark eyes to bring a name to his lips.

_"Skywalker told me what happened."_

He smiles, feeling the Force embrace him warmly, encouraging. "Cody," he greets. "Come on in." And he steps to the side, gesturing with one hand and holding the door open with the other.

The clone blinks in surprise. The blaster falls a second later.

And the battle-hardened man falls to his knees, weeping bitterly.

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><p><strong><em>So, this is going to be a two part section for year seven. I've got a lot going on in this one and am covering a few different things and flashbacks, so I decided to divide it up. I know that having Cody introduced like this is not canon, but I don't like the way the canon goes with him and so I changed it. ;) Besides, it's an interesting little side-story to work with.<em>**

**_Luke will be back in the next chapter. I just couldn't fit him in this one anywhere, so be patient! As if I haven't been testing your guys' patience already... sorry!_**

**_Hope you're still enjoying it, though, and please review if you can spare a few short seconds! Thanks for sticking with me on this! :D_**


	9. Seven, Part 2

_Yeah, it's been a while... but I thank you for your patience! Hope you enjoy! :)_

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><p>There is something about falling off of a cliff face that Obi-wan knows he will never forget, no matter how hard he tries. And staring into the familiar face of the man who shot him off of that cliff ignites an unwanted burn deep in his chest.<p>

Fear. He feels it again. Sees the water rushing up to meet him, feels the cold tendril of ice sneak up his spine once more. A warning that death is surely close.

Even though it's not, because he's safe in his hovel. His feet are secured to his dusty floors where gravity holds him in a safe grip instead of yanking him hundreds of feet through plasma-riddled air... down...down...down some more...

He shudders, glancing at the wall, his small shelf of books, the flimsi still stacked on the table, anything but the man in front of him.

He had let Cody cry for a few minutes before peeling him off of the dusty ground and leading him inside. Since he had greeted the man, neither of them had spoken another word. Obi-wan had simply filled two mugs with some tea, set one in front of the clone, kept one for himself, and taken a seat.

Now he almost feels like sending the man off to be on his way, but he knows the Force brought him here for a reason, and it pains him to try and understand. This blasted man had tried to _kill_ him, after all. His _friend _had tried to _kill _him. Where he had originally felt compassion, he now only feels a deep-seeded anger beginning to grow. How many times had he let people hurt him without returning any necessary reprimand or punishment, _something_ to let them know that what they had done wasn't _right?_

At that new revelation he finally flicks his gaze back to Cody, drilling into him with the hardest glare he can muster. "Are you hoping you only have to try and kill me twice?" It's a cruel way to break the silence, and he can tell by the wince on Cody's face just how deep the question cuts.

_Good._

The blaster sits on the table between them, right on top of the wanted poster. He reaches forward and shoves his hand against the cold metal, pushing it forward a little. "Here, have at it. Surely you won't miss from this close." He can't keep the bite out of his voice. He's never spoken this way to another person before, not even Anakin.

Cody's expression is one of both confusion and disbelief. There's fear there too, though Obi-wan wonders what the man is afraid of. It can't possibly be of him, because he just offered this man a clean shot at him.

Cody slowly reaches forward, curling his rough hand around the blaster, trigger finger settling comfortably in the grip. He stares at the weapon for a brief moment, eyes hardening into the battle-ready look that Obi-wan knows all too well.

And just like that, Cody withers. The blaster falls for the second time, clattering back to the table, and Cody's face falls back into one of clear heartache. This time, his old commander meets his gaze squarely, eyes hurting yet unflinchingly steady. "I'm sorry."

Obi-wan blinks, caught off guard. A little bit of his anger dissipates, but there's still so much there, born from years of holding it back. He does manage to bite his tongue, though, if only for his own sake. He knows he's on the edge of darkness right now, temper ready to be set off by the smallest spark. Cody shouldn't be the one to have to deal with that...

And why not Cody? Why _not_ the man who'd shot him off of a cliff face? The knot in his gut hardens once more and the only thing keeping him from doing something rash is years of experience in dealing with such emotions. The chair he's sitting in almost falls over as he stands and begins to pace. He clasps his hands together behind his back, knowing that if they are out of the way he won't be tempted to possibly slice the guy's head off.

The man _had_ apologized, after all.

"What happened to you?"

The rough, slightly raspy, accented voice glances off him, reminding him of a time not so far gone when he'd faced that same question, asked over and over again by people who didn't know better. People who didn't - _couldn't_ - understand. Just like now. Cody could _never_ understand what he'd lost, what had been taken from him.

He pivots swiftly, sharply, releasing a frustrated huff of Force energy. The emotion transforms into a small weapon of sorts, the blast flashing out from his body in a rippling manner. The result makes him blink in surprise. Cody only flinches when it hits him, barely enough to plaster his clothes a little tighter to his body, but the contents of his small hovel vibrate when the energy reaches them. It passes quickly, rebounding off the walls and disappearing as it weakens.

But it's enough. What_ has_ happened to him? Excuses begin to rattle through his head, justification for his actions.

He's intelligent enough to know that any attempt at justification is futile. This is his _heart_ coming out. All the frustration and pent-up anger he'd withheld over the years is finally rearing its ugly head and he can't stop it because it feels _good_.

But it's so very _wrong._

Cody tries again, standing on steady feet. He fought beside plenty of Jedi. Obi-wan knows that he's not intimidated in the least. The man pauses, reaching for the blaster willfully this time, a sign of precaution and probably a smart one considering the circumstances.

Obi-wan himself isn't sure how much longer he can resist lashing out at the man.

Cody steadies himself, taking a deep breath. Then he looks at him with a gentle gaze, one that doesn't understand but knows _enough_ to be able to help. And maybe that's what Obi-wan is wanting beneath all of this. He releases another breath, this one shaky and hesitant.

_Help me..._

Cody can't feel the unspoken plea resonating in the Force, but he seems to understand nevertheless. He steps forward, daring to enter the range of a lightsaber. The weapon is normally hanging on the Jedi's belt, comfortably within reach, and even though he doesn't see it there, he knows that it must be close. He knows this man's tendencies.

Which is why he's dared to go this far already. "Let me help you, sir... Obi-wan. Please."

He flinches, draws back, resisting even though it's what he so desperately wants. "You tried to _kill_ me, Cody. You think that inspires _trust_?" he snaps.

Cody doesn't recoil or retreat. He simply stands there. "No, but something made you let me through that door, and I'm still hoping it was the man that I used to know all those years ago."

This makes him laugh. The irony of it, because Cody doesn't see it. He hates the way his laughter sounds, all bitter and empty. "I hate to say it, but _that_ man is no different from the one you see right now."

Cody hesitates, but then he nods. He sees it now. "You're right, I guess." Then he pauses. "You know, I think we're a lot more similar than you think."

A ginger brow shoots up, silent indignation speaking the obvious question.

"We're both products of our environment. Influence can have a strong affect when you don't know you're being manipulated. Me? I was programmed to follow orders. I don't understand the science behind it all, but I know enough to understand that being a soldier is literally in my DNA somehow. I acted on instinct, Obi-wan. Some might call it an excuse, but at the time I wasn't strong enough to resist such natural inclination." Cody looks away, fiddling with the blaster. "So I shot you. No hesitation. No questions asked. I was simply being what they intended for me to be: a genetically engineered man who doesn't know any better."

"And now?" Obi-wan asks, hiding his curiosity, his hidden plea for help, behind biting sarcasm.

Cody's level stare meets him again. "I know better. But you... you're different, but not as much as you like to think. It was just in the way you were raised rather in the way you were made. Kind of the same, if you ask me. You were taught that emotion is dangerous, that letting it out can hurt you and turn you mad like the Sith. And all the while, you believed that those teachings were right because your Order was the epitome of greatness, a symbol of hope to all people. You didn't know any better."

And _that's_ where Cody is wrong.

He's the first to look away and he begins to pace again just so he doesn't have to look back. Obi-wan has always known something wasn't right about the lifestyle he adhered to, that somewhere in history the legendary Order that he was a part of had gone wrong somehow. He saw it in Qui-gon first, in his old master's tendency to rebel against the Council, in the secret love that he felt towards Tahl, in the grief he sometimes glimpsed when the anniversary of Xanatos' death came around...

In the middle of that he'd seen Mace go through a brief stage of utter silence. So masked off and hidden behind a veil that was even more emotionless than his usual stoic countenance. He knew it had been no coincidence that it had started right after his return from Haruun Kal, after his former apprentice had been declared basically a vegetable for the rest of her life...

He'd even seen Yoda mask his own emotion behind flashing eyes, drooping ears, or an even-keeled tone that accompanied his often bewildering backwards dialect. All emotions had been held in check by a self-control that had centuries of practice. And still, Force-presence aside, Obi-wan had been able to _see_ it...

And finally, there was Anakin. His poor, lost, desperate little brother. The boy and man who had so drastically changed the stereotype of a typical Jedi that had he not had a blue blade, he might have been mistaken for a Sith during some of his unexpected - or possibly expected - fits of anger. Eventually, it had been too much and Obi-wan had been forced to watch his brother succumb to what was simply a lack of love. Love that had been held back, forced down, muted, snuffed out. Because love was dangerous; every Jedi knew that...

_Force,_ he had loved that man...

He stops now, standing still, his hands still clenched behind his back, though no longer itching to strangle his old friend. A lump forms in his throat and try as he might he can't seem to force it back down. The anger is gone, and in its place only guilt-ridden grief remains. "But I did know, Cody..." he starts, wincing as the words leave his mouth. They hurt. "I was still a naturally-born man. It wasn't in my DNA to not be angry, to not feel love, to not desire, cherish, or _feel_ anything." He turns and looks at the man again. "I wasn't just some droid they picked off the street. This anger has been building for _years_." He sighs. "I never told Anakin I loved him; I thought he knew..."

"Pardon my bluntness, but all I ever heard from you was that attachment is dangerous."

There's nothing but gentleness in Cody's gaze; the man isn't trying to ignite his anger again, only to help him understand. Obi-wan nods. "I know... I guess I was just too stubborn to believe that possibly the greatest mistake us Jedi ever made was stubbornly denying the pity we saw in every civilian's eyes when they looked at us."

Cody's brows pinched together. "Pity?"

This time he smiled sadly. "The hope was for the kids, Cody. Their parents knew better."

Understanding falls across the clone's face at the same time that Obi-wan feels a soft, but powerful presence approaching his hovel. He gives Cody one last purposeful look. "Forgive me?"

Cody smiles a little. "For being human?"

Obi-wan shakes his head. "For being harsh and insensitive. Even if that _is_ part of being human, as you put it, it's still _wrong_."

Cody hesitates and then gives him a curt nod. He extends his hand. "I forgive you, Obi-wan. Would you be willing to do the same for me?"

This time, Obi-wan's smile is not entirely devoid of amusement. "For trying to kill me? I daresay that one certainly warrants an apology, which generally follows with forgiveness, am I right?" He grasps the hand in a warm grip, resealing the first crack in a long list of breaks that he's experienced. It's a start at least, even though he knows that there are some breaks that will never be mended. "Of course I'll forgive you. And Cody... thank you."

Cody grins at him before releasing his hand. "You're welcome. It's about time our roles were reversed... kind of."

Obi-wan chuckles a little and then heads for the door. "Yeah, yeah... seriously, though. I don't want to know how you found me, but I'm glad you did."

Cody follows him over. "Who's here?"

Obi-wan feels the familiar longing to cry. That feeling is as close as he's ever going to get to the actual release of tears, but this is the first time in a long time that it's felt _good_. He's missed having a true friend around, one who knows him better than most.

Cody doesn't even question the fact that someone's at the door, even though nobody's knocked and he hasn't announced anything. He simply observed and interpreted. He _knows_ him.

He's forgotten what it felt like to be by someone who really knows him. It feels _good_.

They reach the door and he grasps the small knob, hesitating only to send Cody a quick smirk. Had the man looked close enough he might have seen the hurt hidden beneath. "His name is Luke."

_"Luke..." It's just a whisper, shuddering, almost a last gasp. She's close to surrendering. He can sense it, and it pains him to realize this._

_This boy will be an orphan in no more than a few minutes._

It only lasts a fraction of a second, but he remembers. He'll always remember the way she sounded in her last moments, granting the galaxy one last parting gift. One last hope.

_Light._ She'd given the galaxy light.

Cody shifts behind him. "Luke? Just Luke; no last name? Is he a friend, a bounty hunter, some guy you never told me about?"

He turns the knob, still smirking. "He's seven years old, Cody. Very dangerous and unpredictable. Be fully prepared for anything."

Cody grunts, unimpressed. "Very funny. What's a seven-year-old doing out in these parts by himself?"

"Why don't we find out, hm?" The door creaks when he opens it. The bright midday suns greet them with blinding rays and it takes a moment for them to adjust. Luke is standing there with his little fist poised and ready to knock, frozen in surprise. Another boy is standing behind him, fiddling nervously with his shirt. Obi-wan briefly takes note of the other boy, recognizing him as one of Luke's friends, and then fixes his gaze on Anakin's son. "Hello, Luke. What brings you all the way out here?"

Luke blinks and lowers his arm. Then a smile lights up his face and he looks back at his friend. "See, I told you he was nice."

The other boy is still clearly nervous, but he manages to roll his eyes.

Luke turns back around and smiles up at them. "We crashed our speeder over in the canyon, but I remembered where your house was, so we came here."

As if that explained everything. He and Cody share an amused glance before he lowers himself to his knees so that he can see eye to eye with the boys. "How did you get out of the canyon?"

Luke's face reddens a little and he lowers his gaze, staring at his feet. "Well we didn't exactly fall into the canyon... just the speeder did."

"It's not really a speeder an'more," the other boy adds, shooting a dirty look at the back of Luke's head. "More like a smokin' pile of scrap metal. It's _not_ fixable."

Luke's sheepish smile disappears. His brows beetle together in an instant and he rounds on the other boy, stuffs his little fists into his sides in clear indignation. "Is too! Uncle Owen and I can fix it! We jus' need ta drag it back home."

All anxiety vanishes from the other boy and Obi-wan is hard-pressed to hold back a chuckle at how quickly the kid's face goes from rather pale to bright red. "It's in a bajillion pieces, Luke! Do you know how much trouble we're gonna be in?"

At that Luke only shrugs, still glaring. "It can be fixed."

Stubborn little tyke. Obi-wan gently grasps Luke's shoulder and turns him back around. "We'll worry about the speeder later, okay? How about you two come inside and tell us how the speeder ended up at the bottom of the canyon while you guys are perfectly fine and in one piece."

"Maybe you can start with why you were driving a speeder in the first place," Cody offers, stepping aside to let them through the door.

Luke looks up at him and stops. "Who are you?"

"I'm sorry, where are my manners..." Obi-wan mutters. He stands and gestures at his guest. "This is Cody. We worked together quite a few years ago." Cody sends him a look, and he merely gives a slight shake of his head. Now is not the time for bringing up a war. Especially with two seven-year-olds.

Luke gives a little nod, appearing as professional as a boy of his age can. "Pleased ta meet you. Ben and I go waaay back."

Cody looks amused as he gently shakes the boy's hand. "Really? Well it's nice to see that he has at least one friend around here..."

Luke giggles at the way Obi-wan's expression flattens and lets go of Cody's hand. "Yeah, I know. He's kind of old and kind of a... um...a... uhh... HERMIT! That's what auntie called him! She said hermits like ta keep ta themselves. And he's old. Auntie says old people keep ta -"

"Okaaay," Obi-wan interjects, slightly exasperated. "Now that we're all acquainted with each other..." He deliberately ignores the smirk on Cody's face and gestures inside, trying to keep the conversation moving in a more productive direction.

Luke takes a few more steps and then stops again. "Oh! This is my friend Windy, by the way! He's a _great_ shot with a slingshot! Hits them dirty ratbags square 'tween the eyes every time!"

Ratbags... womp rats. Right. Obi-wan glances at the other kid. Black hair, dark eyes, keen gaze. He's a somewhat reserved boy, but he can see that the kid is pleased with the praise. He smiles. "Well we're glad to have you here too, Windy. Now why don't we all take a seat so you can tell us what happened."

It takes them a little over an hour to cover a story that could have been told in a little less than five minutes. Apparently, Owen was off again on some fool escapade of his and Beru had gone into town for a quick supply run, leaving the two boys alone for a couple hours to play. Obi-wan has to bite his tongue to not say anything about them being at home by themselves on a planet like this one.

The two boys had stayed home for the first hour until they became bored. Translation: until they found the speeder. Obi-wan listened in growing annoyance as the two described their "infilitration of Imperial territory" and their hunting down of the evil "ratbag shoulders" - Imperial soldiers, maybe? - until they had eventually faced down Vader himself, apparently, and been chased to the "asteroid belt".

"And then we -"

"No, I want ta tell this part..."

"You _always_ get to tell the good parts. It's my turn."

Luke pouts, but relents and leans back into his seat, arms crossed. "Fine."

Windy grins and gestures excitedly, whipping his hands around in baffling representations of what actually happened. "So we fly towards the belt, right? An' then this HUGE asteroid comes out of NOWHERE and we have to eject. Luke puts it in antipilot -"

"_Auto_pilot, you gimp," Luke corrects. Obi-wan sends him a scolding look that causes the boy to shrink back a little in apology.

Windy waves it off. "Autopilot - whatever. And then we hit the button and ejected onto our escape pads."

That picture, of two seven-year-olds ejecting from a starfighter in space onto escape _pads_, is enough to finally cause Cody to snort and cover it up with a clearing of his throat. Obi-wan glances at him with a wink and refocuses on Windy. "So you two escaped, and Vader..."

Luke sits back up again. "Well our ship exploded when it hit the rock, so he thought we'd died in the crash. He left."

"I see..." Obi-wan says, nodding. Then leans back. "Well, boys, that sounds like a very exciting adventure, but next time I would advise not going after Imperial soldiers until you've had proper training... or until your Uncle Owen can accompany you. Is that understood?"

The two boys nod, officially worn out from telling the story, and officially reprimanded, understanding Obi-wan's implication far sooner than Obi-wan thought they would. He hesitates, uncertain if they actually understand what he's saying.

Cody intercedes for him, leaning forward. "That means not again until you're older, okay? Besides, I'm sure there are plenty of ratbags close to Luke's house that you two can hunt."

Both boys nod meekly, affirming their understanding a second time.

Then Luke stands up and sends a pleading look towards Obi-wan. "Could you pos'bly, maybe, take us home?"

Obi-wan smiles a little. "I was actually thinking that maybe Cody could take you two back and help you fix up that speeder of yours."

Luke glances at Cody with a calculating look. "Is he any good at fixin' things?"

Obi-wan glances at Cody only to find that his old friend is giving him the same calculating look that Luke is giving him. He holds the gaze even as he answers the young boy. "He's _very_ good at fixing things, Luke. You won't be disappointed."

Cody understands the underlying meaning and smiles, turning towards the two boys. "Why don't you two go wait outside while I talk things over with Ben a little more, okay?"

Windy heads for the door immediately, but Luke doesn't even stand up. He simply sits, gazing at them. "Ben?"

Obi-wan stands, heading towards the table for his tea. It's probably cold and bland by now, but he'll still drink it. He hates to waste the stuff. "Yes, Luke?"

"What did you and Cody do together?"

He's perceptive, Obi-wan will give him that. Just like his mother. It hurts to think of her, what she went through, what he failed to save her from. He misses her friendship almost as much as Anakin's.

"We traveled a lot together, took on jobs here and there. Fixed stuff." He hates twisting the truth. _Hates_ it. "Sometimes we messed up, though, and had to stay for a little longer. Cody can tell you about it..." Now he can feel Cody's eyes on him as well. _Wonderful..._

The pattering of footsteps stops behind him. He turns to find Luke staring up at him, eyes glinting with far more perception than he should have. "What did you fix? Starships? Speeders? Droids?" The last is said with a hopeful widening of the eyes.

Anakin had liked tinkering with droids as well.

Obi-wan manages a smile for the kid. "All of the above, but we mostly fixed disputes between people. It's a little hard to understand."

"Disputes?" Luke asks, trying out a new word.

"Arguments," Cody offers from behind him. "Tell you what, kid... I'll tell you guys all about it on the way home as soon as I get directions from Ben, okay? I'll meet you outside."

Luke pouts, but nods. "Okay." He turns, heading for the door where Windy is waiting. Upon reaching the table, though, he stops, staring, a wide grin forming on his face. "Look, Windy. It's Vader!" He holds up the sketch of the grizzled old womp rat soaked to the bone. Windy giggles and rushes over to look at it.

Obi-wan's heart skips a beat at the comparison, until he sees the other sketch that Luke's uncovered. He walks over and slips it off the table, holding it out to the boys. "This is a sketch of him too," he says.

Grinning, Luke glances at it. He shakes his head, hair flopping down into his eyes. "No. That one's too nice-looking."

Obi-wan keeps holding it out. "True, but it's still the same womp rat."

Luke glances at Obi-wan and then back at the picture. His face takes on a more serious expression. "But that doesn't work. Vader's mean, not nice-looking and soft."

Obi-wan dares to hope for a second, hearing the hesitation in the child's voice, seeing the way he's thinking hard about it. "Perhaps Vader is only sick, Luke."

"Sick," the boy repeats, finally taking the sketch and holding it next to the other one.

Even Windy nods in appreciation. "He actually does look kinda nice."

Luke hesitates and then nods as well, smiling again. "Yeah, he does. Next time we should look for some med'cine for him instead."

Windy nods eagerly and the two begin to head for the door, deep in a discussion about what might make 'Vader' better.

Once the boys have gone outside, Cody comes and stands beside him. "Sick, Obi-wan?"

Obi-wan sighs. This is no longer a seven-year-old he's talking to. Luke might be perceptive, but Cody has the ability to take it one step further. He _knows_ him. He has the _insight._ Obi-wan lifts his tea and takes a large gulp, resisting the urge to gag at the bitter taste. He forgot to add sugar.

Cody recognizes the drink for what it is and crosses his arms. "I've known you for too many years, so don't expect stalling to throw me off any." He steps in front of him, facing him squarely. "Vader is pure darkness, Obi-wan. Evil. _Rotten_. I defected; I've seen what he's done, the way he kills, how many he's killed, how cold and methodical he is. He's not sick. There is no cure for him, so why give them hope?"

He can't lie to this man. Not after reuniting after leaving a mess behind all those years ago. Cody deserves to know. He swallows, cringing at the aftertaste.

"What happened to Anakin, Cody?" he asks simply.

Cody blinks, a little thrown off by the question, but sorrow immediately follows. "He was killed shortly following the Purge. You must know that, so why ask?"

"By Vader, I presume?" Obi-wan continues. Cody nods, unsure as to where he's headed. Obi-wan stares at him. "Anakin _is_ Vader. We fought on Mustafar and I... I..." he swallows, pushes back the rising emotion yet again. "I defeated him, left him for dead, assumed he would die from his injuries. He didn't. Sidious put him in that suit, created a monster." He stops, slightly puzzled as to why Cody appears neither shocked nor concerned by this.

Cody seems to recognize Obi-wan's confusion. He swallows, his face hardening. "It all makes sense, then. I wondered, Obi-wan... for the longest time I felt something familiar about him, something that made my gut clench every time he sliced into someone with that over-aggressive slash. Every time he spoke, some of the phrases he used. Certain information he knew, as if he'd been on many of the same missions that I had... it makes sense..."

Obi-wan watches the man, expecting the sorrow he can see to transform into tears like he so often longed for himself. But Cody seems to have lost that ability as well. The two of them can only stare at each other in silence, both wishing for comfort that neither of them can provide.

Cody finally sighs. "And Luke is...?"

"His son."

This does surprise him. Cody's eyes widen in understanding and he flicks a quick glance at the door before looking at him again. "His _son_? And you believe that this kid can turn him back somehow? When? In another twenty _years_?"

His friend's outburst is somewhat expected, so Obi-wan only nods. "I've already waited for seven years, Cody, and I'll wait as long as I have to. I will not leave Anakin to suffer in darkness."

Cody glares at him. "You feel responsible, don't you. This is not your fault! Why do you always take the blame for stuff that you have no control over?"

Obi-wan takes a step closer, only inches away now, wanting Cody to see the anguish he's feeling right now. The overwhelming guilt. "Yes, Cody, he fell. He did that himself. But I was right by his side every step of the way; I knew what he was going through even if he didn't know that I understood. I knew something was wrong. And I did _nothing!_ Well now that the only life I ever knew has been stripped away, now that most of my friends are either dead or in exile, now that I've watched everything shatter into pieces, I'm going to do something. And if you're willing, I'd appreciate your help."

Cody looked away, considering his words. "If you think there's hope for him, Obi-wan, then I'll help you. I'll see what I can do about getting myself hired. " He looked back and smiled a little. "Don't look so surprised. I'm one of only a few people that can read you like a book; surely you would know that by now. Look, I don't know what's going on between you and that boy's 'uncle', but I take it it's not good. I'll stay with them as long as I can, make sure he's safe."

Obi-wan gives him a grateful nod. "Thank you."

It ends abruptly between them, similar to last time only with no one falling off of a cliff face. Obi-wan is thankful for that small difference. Even so, there are still no good-byes, no firm handshakes or manly embraces, no final words of encouragement.

Just a mutual glance between them that brings up old memories and ignites a small spark of hope for a brighter future than previously believed. It's a glance that says more than words ever could, because mere acquaintances can't communicate without speech.

But friends can, and Obi-wan sends a silent thanks to the Force for allowing him to have at least one friend left in this bleak life of his.

He watches them go, waves them off with only a smile. Luke grins back over his shoulder and waves a skinny arm back at him.

"G'bye, Ben!"

* * *

><p><em>Please review if you can spare a few seconds! Thanks for sticking with me on this! :)<em>


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